The Seer - eARC (51 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

“I think you are delaying, Seer.”

“No,” she said as she packed her things, but her hands and her mouth seemed to belong to different minds. Fingers trembling, she could not seem to tie the knots on her pack. He watched a moment, then took over for her.

All too soon they were ready to leave, atop their horses, and riding north on the Great Road.

The wide road was now crowded. Donkey-pulled wagons, hand-held carts, hundreds of people, all urgent to get somewhere, shouting and shoving, but getting out of the way of their horses. Tayre’s occasional glances and smiles at her seemed distracted. She finally realized he was watching the many people around them, looking for threats. She could have reassured him that vision told her she was not in danger of bodily harm, not until the palace itself, but she would not expect him to rely on her word any more than she would rely on his.

The gates of the city were huge and heavy, many times the height of a tall man. She watched them in wonder as they passed, picking out the many symbols twisted into the iron and spikes.

So many people. Even in Munasee there had not been this many people, swarming in all directions, children slipping behind gawkers around a puppet show, being pushed away, vendors calling their wares, people shouting. As they rode, thunder cracked across the sky, sending a brief fall of frigid rain that cleared the street not at all. Such a chaos and array of colors, sights, and sounds, that Amarta found herself looking back at the man who had been her hunter just to see something familiar.

He gave her a smile whose sincerity she no longer bothered to consider. She smiled back, but it felt weak, fragile, and insincere.

As the horses climbed the steepening road, vision tightened, a near ache in her head and neck and shoulders, confused half-warnings, tantalizing snatches of what it would be like to drop from the horse and lose herself in the people and buildings of this strange city. To avoid this day’s conclusion. She pushed it all away.

At last they reached the summit of the hill where a huge square opened, huge sprawling houses on each side in dual colors, their gates and walls so ornate and beautiful that she could not quite take her eyes off them. The Houses, she realized with a shock. The capital city was where the Houses had all begun. Where the empire itself had begun.

At the center of the square rose a pale pink marble fountain, carved into sprays as if it had been transformed from a geyser of water, birds and flowers frozen in the water.

Then she turned her attention forward again. Ahead another large gate. Walls atop which men walked. And beyond that—

The palace was huge. Silvered windows reflected the sky. Flags of red and black and white rippled in the high breezes. She could not take it all in at once. Her mouth dropped open.

“Amarta,” Tayre said softly from the ground. She tore her gaze away to look down at him. He had dismounted, and signaled her to follow. Then he was talking to someone, handing them something that looked like coins, and the horses were led away. She patted the side of her mare affectionately, sensing the unlikelihood of seeing her again.

From there they walked forward toward the palace gates. Terror slowed her step. She found she had stopped.

Tayre took her arm, gently pressing her forward. “No hesitating now, Seer.”

Red-and-black clad soldiers stood at the entrance. Traffic in and out of the palace gates was thick. A crowd clustered before them, waiting to be let in. They were being checked, one by one.

“Thank you,” she said softly to him. “For saying yes.”

He still held her arm, and she let herself believe he meant to impart some measure of reassurance, not merely to convey his readiness should she at this last minute change her mind.

He spoke softly. “Once inside, for your benefit as well as mine, I am not Tayre. You understand?”

She looked ahead at the gate and not at him. “Yes.”

He came closer yet, put an arm around her shoulder, his mouth by her ear. “Do not depend on me, Amarta, not even in thought. My loyalties are to the Lord Commander and not at all to you. Expect nothing from me.”

“I know.”

“You know it in thought only. Listen carefully: when we walk through those gates I will leave you. There will be no good-bye, no more time. So, now: is there anything else you want to say to me or ask me before then?”

Was there?

How do I survive this?

No. She had given away hopes of her own survival or she would not be here now. “Your advice. Anything at all.”

He made a low, thoughtful sound. “Your instincts have served you well these years you’ve run from me, escaping every time. Trust them, but go further yet: ask questions. Think on the answers. Consider the intentions behind spoken words.”

“Thank you.”

He pressed her forward again. She took a breath, then another. Then a step. Then another.

Close enough to the gate to look through, Amarta had not until now realized the palace was a single, enormous structure, larger than any she had ever imagined. The walls stretched up four and five stories tall, glittering pink and white stone interlaced among sparkling glass windows, towers and etched spires climbing higher yet.

The Jewel of the Empire. No one who saw this immense palace could wonder why it was so named.

Foresight was whispering urgently, warning that in moments she would walk into a dire darkness without escape. She pressed the whispers away, instead studying the palace windows, wondering who was inside and might be looking down on her now.

When they reached the front of the line Tayre spoke quietly to one of the guards. They were motioned inside, beyond the gate. The guard left at a jog, another stepping up to replace him, looking them over curiously.

Too late to run, though vision kept pushing, suggesting quickly closing options.

Tayre watched her attentively. Ready. Always ready.

Hunter’s eyes. Still. Always.

Minutes later the guard returned, a tencount or more of soldiers trotting alongside, large men in red and black. The two of them were instantly surrounded, her arms were pinned, and she was nearly lifted off the ground as she was rushed forward to a destination she could no longer see. Fighting panic and trying not to struggle, she could see little through the black and red uniforms. She and Tayre were swept forward, toward and through huge palace doors to the inside of the Jewel of the Arunkel Empire.

Glimpses of long hallways, colorful throngs of people stepping quickly back from the mass of guards rushing forward. Stairs and more stairs. Another long hallway. They stopped a moment. She tried to catch her breath. Then movement again, and they were inside a high-ceilinged room. The guards released her. Unsteady and shaking, she looked around.

Walls a pale pink with delicate red swirls. A floor of gray wood and milk tile. High windows letting in light but showing nothing but flat sky.

No one moved. The guards stood silent and large, making even Tayre look small. No—he was making himself look small. The way he held himself. One shoulder dropped. Head tilted. Eyes wide, mouth slack, as if he were as stunned to be here as she was.

When we walk through those gates, I will leave you.

He had already left. The man standing beside her was not the man who had held her in his arms only that morning.

The door to the room opened. In walked another large man, his red and black uniform glinting with gold. His gaze went to her and stayed there a long moment, then went to Tayre, then back to her.

Looking as he did now, she would not have recognized him from her memory of that dark night, years ago in Botaros.

“Lord Commander,” Tayre said, bowing deeply, bobbing slightly at the deepest part of the bow, as if nervous and uncertain, which Amarta was certain he was not. His voice was accented with a lilt Amarta had not heard him use before. “I am servant and messenger. This girl, I deliver her to you. I am to tell you she has come of her own will. That she gives herself to you without influence.”

Should she bow as Tayre had done? She watched the Lord Commander as keenly as he now watched her, hoping for a clue, finding none. Why hadn’t she thought to ask Maris or Tayre enough to prepare for this moment?

All her vision and resolve had not prepared her for this. Not even to ask the right questions.

“Yes,” the man said. “This is the one. You may go. Tell your master I will contact him. Tell him he has done well.”

Tayre bowed again and again and backed to the door.

She had known he would leave, yet he had been right: it was only in thought. She felt a rising panic, a curious transfer of her fear from Tayre from these many years of running to the man in front of her.

Who was, after all, the man who had sent him. The holder of the hunting dog’s leash. The man in whose hands her life rested. Who had killed his brother, because she had told him how.

If she had been able to look further into the future, then, back in Botaros—if she had seen more clearly—would she would have chosen his brother instead? And then, might she now not be standing here? Perhaps his brother would have been worse.

It didn’t matter: there was no asking about what might have happened in events already passed. That was not vision; that was regret.

The Lord Commander gestured, and the rest of the men followed Tayre out. Suddenly the room was empty but for the two of them, the echo of the door closing the only sound in this quiet room.

The Lord Commander seemed to look everywhere but at her. “Amarta al . . . ?” he prompted.

She swallowed. Tension was a pressure in her head and throat, fear a tightness in her chest. She sensed every word she spoke would matter. “Nowhere,” she answered. Her voice sounding small in her own ears. “There is no home.”

“Amarta al Arunkel, then,” he said roughly. “And that’s far from nowhere.”

It took her a moment to understand his words, to comprehend their meaning, to realize she had already earned his annoyance.

“Yes, ser.”

“When last we spoke, I was short on time, and you were short on sleep. Now I have plenty of time. Is it true that you come here of your own free will?”

“Yes, ser.” He had a way of asking questions that made her want to answer. Her hands were clenched into tight, damp fists. With effort she uncurled her fingers.

“You have no need to fear me, Amarta al Arunkel. All those years running—all a misunderstanding now addressed. You are safe here. Safer than you’ve ever been.”

She didn’t believe him. But it didn’t matter; she had not come here to be safe. For him to say this, though, what did that mean? Was he trying to reassure her? Or make her more afraid?

He motioned to one of the chairs. “Sit. I’ll have food sent for. Later, a room for you. A clean bed in which to sleep. Perhaps even a bath. Yes?”

She sat, clutching the loose fabric of her travel-stained trousers to keep her hands busy. She felt out of place in this room of high ceilings and heavy doors, of chairs of polished wood. It made her wonder how much Tayre had been paid to deliver her here, and decided that she would rather not know. She thought of Dirina and Pas and, bizarrely, what they would think of this room, of this moment, of this man.

He had, she realized, asked her a question, but she did not understand it. As he walked the room, watching her, vision played dimly at the edge of her awareness, shifting like flame-cast shadow.

He was the largest thing in front of her. From him came warm blood, and cold stillness, and the echoing screams and cries of thousands.

He stood at the door now, speaking to someone about food. She was too afraid to feel hungry. What she felt, she suspected, was no longer of much consequence.

The sound of his boots on the wood and tile reminded her of a moment in half-dream, some years ago. Vision or memory? Or both?

“Amarta, where are your sister and her child?”

Her gaze snapped to his, then down at the floor’s tile of gray and milk.

He pulled a chair around to face her. He took his time as he sat, his every movement unhurried. “Will you not answer?” His tone seemed to hint at consequence, at displeasure, at the unacceptability of silence. It cut through her thoughts, making it even harder to think of a reply. “I assumed you would cooperate with me now, since you came here willingly. Perhaps I assumed in error.”

She looked at him, afraid to see his face, afraid not to. His expression threatened some kind of heat, like dry tinder waved near a fire.

“My first question, and you refuse. This does not give me much confidence in you, Seer.” To her continued muteness, he made a dismissive gesture. “Never mind. I’ll find them if I want them. Why are you here?”

She must answer. Pushing away the dread she felt at these words, she stuttered. “To—to answer your questions, Lord Commander.”

“You rejected my offer only last year. Has the future changed so much since then?”

“The future is always changing.”

“Don’t play word games with me, Amarta,” he said, his tone forceful. “What has changed?”

She cringed, swallowed. “I have, Lord Commander.”

“In what way?”

Children screaming, burning in basements. Heads sitting atop walls on spikes. Bodies swinging from trees.

What would he understand? What would he believe?

“I want Arunkel to be a good place for my nephew to grow up.”

“In what way is it not?” He sounded annoyed.

This was completely the wrong beginning. If she were to have a chance to make him change his mind about anything, she would have to gain his confidence, and she was already failing. It was not enough to convince him that she was sincere; she had to show him that she could help him in ways he cared about. She had to win his faith. But how?

The way Tayre had with her. Building trust, one careful detail at a time. Without pretending the past had not happened. That was why Tayre had told her his various reasons for doing what he did: he was building her trust.

She must be useful to the Lord Commander. Predict something both soon and likely. That had, perhaps, already happened, but that he had not yet heard about.